A Twist of Fate
by Runa Rose Dempsey
Summary: AU. Thedas isn't quite ready for an Anders that has grown up free, but Fate has plans for her favorite apostate. Ch. 4 - Some Good natured fun in Amaranthine and aboard a ship called the Siren's Call...
1. Fate's Hand

**A Twist of Fate**

_Chapter One: Fate's Hand_

_

* * *

They called her Fate, Daughter of the Maker and his bride, Andraste._

_Were it possible, she would laugh. Such amusing creatures; these human worshipers of their beloved Maker knew surprisingly little. Those of the Void – the Fade, as the humans called it – such as her had little use for the trivialities of religions. Most of it was silly and what little of it even remotely resembled truth was so twisted and corrupted over time that she could hardly see it any longer._

_But yet, she stayed._

_Others had gone; retreated into the serenity of the Void, tired of the ignorance and squabbling of this world. Some remained, like she did. Curiosity drove them, mostly, though they remained relatively silent in the background – watching as mere observers of some complex and oft-times silly play. They were not malicious, thirsting for a world not their own, like demons. She could not possess a living being even if she cared to try. She could only watch and, if intrigued, she could speak…but only to a few, and only while they dreamt in the realm which was her own._

_She watched a young boy with scraggly hair and gangly limbs frequently. Such peculiar dreams, he had! Running through fields and sleeping in trees…very simple dreams so unlike the older versions of his kind. No wishes for the four-legged canine creatures humans used in battle or some paltry bauble to amuse his child's mind. Just grass and air and space as far as his eyes could see._

_Fate watched this boy frequently; unruly hair became long and neat and bony arms and legs filled out, though the dreams varied very little. Occasionally she would see females of his species in those plains of grass or in his tree, but they rarely appeared long before it was very much the same as the child became a young boy._

_Sometimes, she ventured to watch him in the Waking World too. She watched the young boy crawl in the filth of the streets with a grin on his face and pilfer coins from pockets to buy food to sustain his mortal shell. She couldn't control humans, but she could influence, and she reached out her hand several times just so this odd little boy-child could keep running, curious as to where he intended to run to in the end. Because no matter how far they ran, there was always an end point, even if they themselves didn't know where that was._

_He filled out as he grew, Fate noticed. His smile invited all those around him, drawing both males and females to his side by the grace of Wit and Cunning. Others like him who were touched by the Powers – the Arcane Ones who the humans so feared – were drawn into the orbit of his power like moths to a flame._

_There were things that tried to stop him though – road blocks in his path that frustrated and annoyed. Sometimes, when she felt like it, Fate helped ease the passage over them, though sometimes she just watched, curious to see if he could overcome such hurdles without interference._

_One time, however, she HAD to intervene. In the busy streets of that filthy city, Fate reached out her hand for the strange man-child again. Destiny was calling, as the humans would say, and she was a woman who would not be ignored._

_**

* * *

9:25 Dragon – Anders, 18 yrs old**_

It wasn't the first time he'd had to run.

It wasn't to be the last time either, he suspected.

_Such is an apostate's life,_ Anders thought with more buoyancy then one would expect of someone who'd literally just dropped everything and run from his home of three years. Denerim was a good, bustling town, he mused. He'd certainly stayed far longer than he'd expected to. Unfortunately, templars sniffed around, eventually, and they either ended up with a convenient bout of amnesia or an inability to communicate.

Either way, Anders left within the hour for the next destination in a list of many.

He much preferred leaving them with amnesia, but it wasn't a permanent fix. The chantry had a generalized description of him from amnesiac templars who regained their senses – tall, young, and able to shoot ice from his fingertips – as a wanted apostate, but nothing concrete. The templars who _could_ give more detailed accounts of him were never able to – the dead, even with magic, couldn't talk. Most of him despised killing, but Anders was of the mind that, if they kept trying to kill you, it wasn't murder if you simply managed to kill them first. It was a small, if empty, comfort to his once devout little Andrastian soul.

The Imperial Highway, heading west out of Denerim, was quiet. Anders stayed off-road, hiding amongst the trees along the roadside when possible. A small backpack held what little he had of true value, as well as the money he compulsively saved just for situations like this. Making it to Highever would be simple enough and, after a few months of silence passed by, he'd arrange for passage to the Free Marches from Amaranthine.

He could hire himself out in the mean time, of course. Mercenaries _loved_ apostates like him. Magic was something of a commodity amongst mercenaries looking to hire talented help. An apostate who was passable with a sword was never left wanting for a job. Fortunately, he could wield a long sword serviceably enough, though Anders knew he was far from being an expert with one. He much preferred his magic in combat and he was far more valuable healing than as an offensive fighter.

The sun was just rising on the horizon when he decided to finally stop and take a rest. He wasn't very far from Vigil's Keep, the Arl of Amaranthine's home, and Anders made a mental note to avoid the place. Arl Howe was well known for being a rat bastard. He'd seen the noble once, in passing, during his trip to Denerim from Dragon's Peak 3 years ago; he'd spat on a child asking him for help to buy food and had nearly trampled the kid as he left, nose turned up in distaste. It was the oldest cliché in existence, but it was still appallingly true.

Anders hid himself underneath an old bridge that extended over the river, his well-worn cloak beginning the fray at the edges and lose some of its warmth. Winter was coming to Ferelden soon, he realized, and grimaced at the thought of traveling in snow. He'd have to be careful to remain _very _quiet during the winter. Anders had no desire to sleep outside in a bitterly cold Ferelden snowstorm.

He slept lightly that night, if at all. He jolted awake whenever he heard carriages or people pass overhead, convinced that templars were here to drag him to the mage tower and imprison him there like he was some sort of monster. He'd gotten caught once, when he was thirteen, but Fate had smiled on him and Anders had escaped through sheer luck and good timing. It had only been a few hours, but his time in the templar's custody had been enough to convince him that not only was the tower little more than a prison, but that he _never_ wanted to get taken there.

Ever.

_No worries about that anymore,_ he thought cheerfully once he decided sleep would evade him and trying to rest anymore would be pointless. _If they find me now, they'll just smite me and chop off my head._

It was morbidly fitting, really, considering Anders had always thought death was preferable to a life of imprisonment in some dank little tower set in the middle of a lake…as if mages _needed_ further reminder that they were outside of 'normal society'. He still believed death was preferable, though he had little choice now. It was either be free or die.

Call him selfish, but Anders didn't much feel like dying.

The sun was just peering over the horizon when he decided to head out again, the early morning fog concealing him even more than the trees. It wasn't until midday that he found a small little inn a short ways off the side of the road, decrepit and shady looking but sturdy. It wasn't the first time he'd have to stay in a seedy looking inn, though Anders admittedly didn't like to. He always ended up getting into trouble in places like these, somehow.

It was no surprise to him at all that this place wasn't any different.

* * *

Fate, she had long ago decided, was a fickle bitch.

Neria wrinkled her nose as she smelled the pungent scent of alcohol, the boisterous laughing of the bandits who kept her trapped here like some little pet grating against her every last nerve. Better their attention be on the alcohol then her, though. When they chose to acknowledge her, their attentions were unbearable. Being pawed at was bad enough, but the leader was worse. He couldn't stop himself at that. She'd dreamt, every night since she was fourteen, of immolating him from the inside out and watching him scream like the cowardly pissant he was.

If only he weren't a templar.

He was a rogue templar, of course – ousted by even his beloved chantry for his cruelty, though not before he'd been taught how to properly smite, blast it all. Tesla liked when she was weak and helpless, too. She couldn't fight back after being drained of all her mana – could barely lift a hand, to be honest. And despite how appalling it was to admit to it, elves like her weren't built for brute strength. Neria was strong for an elf because of a life of hard work and necessity, but she still didn't hold a candle to the brawn of human males. Much of the elven strength lay in their speed and the force in which they could bring a blade down upon an enemy's neck, making up for their lack strength with speed. That her kin were often malnourished on top of everything else didn't help even the gap between human strength and elven strength either.

She'd always hated the filth-laden streets of the alienage, but Neria almost missed it now on nights where she could only hope Tesla would be too drunk to remember she was locked in this room – an easy target for his lusts with just a wave of his smiting hand. Her ears twitched as she heard the familiar clomping of armored feet, however, and felt her stomach sink when a second paired joined them, though not as loudly. She would not have her reprieve, unfortunately. It seemed as if a second had come to watch as well.

The force with which the smite hit her as the door was shoved open sent her tumbling to the ground, gasping. Her entire body constricted, scrambling to adjust to the sudden loss, and her arms and legs shook with the effort just to get to her knees, but Tesla was there, laughing as he grabbed her by the back of her robes and forced her up, her eyes meeting his defiantly.

_He will not take my dignity._

The second man was unfamiliar to her – a new recruit, maybe. Tesla was always looking for new blood to add to his little 'gang' and far too many were still suffering the after effects of the Orlesian occupation despite it having ended twenty five years ago. Orlais had sucked them dry of everything of value – food and money, to name a few – before they'd been forced out and most common folk were reduced to taking jobs with people like Tesla that were a dime a dozen on the Imperial Highway.

The new shemlen – because his height marked him as such even if she hadn't caught sight of his rounded ears under his unruly sandy blonde hair – had an unmistakable look of distaste on his face as he stood there just behind Tesla, the ex-templar's grip on her chin nearly bruising as he showed her off like some prize hog. There was just the briefest of flares from him – a spiking of magic her jailor was too drunk to catch – and she met _his_ eyes squarely, the only token she could offer an apostate like herself in her eyes.

_Run,_ she implored as he met her gaze long enough for her to notice he had very dark, very _clear_ brown eyes with small flecks of amber around his corneas. He was very young too, the shadows of stubble on his jaw barely even there. Shemlen or not, she didn't wish Tesla on anyone smart enough to understand the message clear on her face. _Run as fast and as furiously from this place as I would._

_If I could._

"What do you think?" the detestable _pig_ standing behind her slurred, his hand jerking her head up enough so that it was uncomfortable. Neria tried to fight it, but she was too weak from the smite to do more than merely wriggle against his hold. "Pretty little knife-ear, ain't she? Picked her up on a job a few years ago." With a lascivious grin and a lick up her cheek that made her try and jerk away as hard as she could, he breathed out lustily, _"Very_ useful."

_Foul-smelling pig,_ she fumed. She remembered the merchants – a nice couple, considering they were shemlen – who'd offered to give her a ride to Amaranthine in exchange for what magical protection she could provide. It proved to be very little since she hadn't expected a bandit to know how to freaking _smite_. They'd been going cold in a pool of their own blood on the dirt road by the time she'd managed to raise her head enough to see Tesla and his men pillaging the now defenseless wagon. It was her one greatest regret – that she'd been too young and too unskilled to use her magic and help two pitiful shemlen, the wife's screams as she was raped before they killed her constantly echoing in her nightmares.

"Magic is very useful indeed." That was the truth. She could hear it in his voice that was oddly level. He took a step closer, his poorly-made shoes soundless on the floor, and she flinched without thinking. Would it be two of them tonight? How much more indignity would Fate heap upon her? "What can she do?"

"She's a…whatcha call 'em…the stuff with the elements." His incessant chuckling in her ear was grating her nerves and Neria consoled herself with an image of sparks shooting out his ass as she electrocuted him with lightning. One day, certainly.

They'd all wish they'd never touched her. _One day._

"Primal magic," he said easily, nodding. "You know, Ser Tesla, I think there is something you could do for me." Once he was positive he had the man's attention, the odd stranger said with an easy grin. "You can let her go."

Even Neria had to do a mental double take. Tesla himself laughed, obviously thinking it was some ridiculously funny joke. _What?_

He wasn't laughing when the apostate took out a glowing blue vial from the pouch on his side and tossed it so it was within reaching distance of her.

Tesla was going red with rage as she grabbed it. He yelled for his men as she drank it, mana flooding through her veins as the lyrium raced down her throat like fire, but adrenaline and her own anger washed over her far warmer, lightning shooting from her hands as she zapped the bastard as hard as she could. He screamed as his whole body twitched, and with hands that sparkled with frost, spears of ice impaled him…one, two, than a third straight through his groin in a very pointed message. Neria didn't let them dispel until she was certain he no longer breathed, her own body quivering in all her repressed rage.

They'd wish they'd never touched her. _Today._

* * *

Anders knew she was trouble. Unfortunately, he'd never been the type who could leave people alone when he knew they were in trouble and her misery was plain to see the minute they caught eyes. She was as thin as a reed and as pale as milk, but she had fire in her elven blue eyes and ink-dark hair that fell long down her back as she rained hellfire down upon the shitty little inn and its occupants. He should stop her, the good little boy in him was saying, but his heart just wouldn't let him.

In the three hours he'd been there, Anders couldn't honestly say he'd raise a hand to save any of them, even if he'd wanted to.

The very earth quaked beneath his feet, vibrating with the rage of a furious little elf literally half his height. She was so young, but then, he'd long ago realized life was seldom fair. So Anders let her rain hell and destruction upon those who'd trapped her here, her entire body quaking with her anger, and he gave off the occasional rejuvenation spell when necessary since, once she was done destroying everything in sight, he knew she would collapse. He could feel it – her body was at its limits with only adrenaline pushing her onward now, blood soaking into the floorboards and dripping over the shoddy wooden tables that were overturned in her wrath.

The healer in him balked at the bloodshed – protested adamantly against such a vicious slaughter. He was not the Maker or any sort of god, however; how could he deprive someone of what they felt was their own justice for the undoubtedly countless violations to her person?

The human – the man – couldn't do that.

The elf girl was breathing heavily as the quaking stopped, her eyes dilated as she stood amidst the blood of her tormentors. Her entire body shook before her head turned towards him, her expression the wild savagery so many attributed to the elves. Anders knew enough to not make a single move; he had no doubt she would attack him if he did and he had no particular desire to fight her. Fighting girls went against his personal sense of chivalry, never mind the fact that she really was deadly scary.

"Better?" he chanced asking once she looked slightly less homicidal. Sanity returning, maybe? Yeah, sanity was good. Sanity wouldn't kill him.

Maybe.

"Getting there." Part of him expected her voice to be as rough as she looked, but it was surprisingly soft and had a certain melodious quality to it. She took a deep breath, then another, before looking at her hands and clothes that had been splattered with blood. "Blood takes forever to rinse out of clothes…"

_Not exactly the first thing I'd think to say after all that, but… _"I saw some robes locked away upstairs," he said helpfully, grinning slightly.

Fifteen minutes later, he watched a clean and newly dressed elf walk down the stairs of the inn with all the dignity of a queen, clad in a fresh pair of Tevinter mage robes and stuffing an extra pair in a sack that she easily tossed over her shoulder. She had no staff, but instead carried a sword almost as tall as she was with an ease that, if he were honest, disquieted him _just a bit._

As if she needed to be anymore deadly.

"You're still here." Her lips quirked, as if her observation was somehow very amusing.

"Indeed I am." _And I don't really know why. I've never had a death wish before._

"I'm not sorry," she told him flatly, her eyes hard. "You'll be waiting a long time if you're expecting me to cry over what I did...or what they did to me, either."

"It never crossed my mind," he assured her. Some women cried over stuff like this, certainly, but he'd already figured this elf was one of those who got very _angry_ when she was upset instead. Again, it wasn't surprising. The few elves he'd ever met were all that way. "Curious to know your name, though," he admitted.

For a second, Anders was convinced she wouldn't give it. Something changed her mind, however, because she said so faintly he almost didn't hear her, "Neria."

With a rather exaggerated bow, he grinned and said, "You may call me Anders, my dear lady."

Neria snorted. "So why are you waiting around, Anders, if not in expectation of some breakdown on my part from some secret 'overwhelming guilt'?" She said 'overwhelming guilt' with such dripping sarcasm that Anders was amused despite himself.

"Maybe I'm waiting to see if you decide to go homicidal on me," he joked.

Her response was quite serious, though. "You didn't touch me, so no." Lighter, and with obvious amusement, Neria said, "I have no plans to go homicidal on you."

"Wonderful! Then I suppose I should get going…" He didn't move, however. The healer in him wouldn't let him. He wasn't entirely sure she was alright, after all. No one suffered abuse without some sort of lingering effects and it would be irresponsible of him to leave her alone until he saw for himself that she really was as alright as she appeared.

So said the healer, anyway. The survivalist was telling him to grab his pack and run for the nearest mountain. _Trouble,_ it said to him in a sing-song voice. _She's a lot of trouble…_

"The door is that way," she nodded, motioning behind him. Her lips quirked further, as if she could hear all his thoughts that ran through his head and found them highly amusing. "Typically, you walk through it when you decide to leave. It doesn't come to you."

"Ah, she can joke!"

"I'm told I can be quite funny when I want to be," Neria agreed easily. "I'm sure it was meant as an insult, though. Not many appreciate my sense of humor."

"Perhaps it's all the hellfire and destruction you seem to like raining down upon the scourges of Thedas," Anders noted absently, glancing around them.

She laughed in response, a surprisingly free sound despite being surrounded by blood she herself had shed not minutes ago. "That might be it, indeed." She glanced around too, seemingly unbothered. "They deserved worse, you know."

"I suspected as much."

"Healers like you never are much for destruction," Neria noted. "You _are_ a healer, yes?"

"Indeed I am." It suited his avoidance of pain quite nicely. "I am not without offensive techniques, though."

"Of course you're not." _Again, the sarcasm!_ "At any rate, I suggest you leave since I have no intention of staying here a moment longer." To prove a point, she loosed a grease spell, the liquid coating the floors as they walked towards the entrance. Once outside, a quick fireball from her hands ignited the shady inn, the flames likely visible for miles. "The local patrols from Amaranthine will come by," she warned. "It's best we be as far from here as possible by then."

"Where do you plan on going?" he wondered, curious despite himself. _She's not my problem,_ he reminded himself. _I shouldn't even be ASKING..._

"Why?" Her smile was nothing short of mischievous as she regarded him. "Want to come along? Ensure the psychotic little elf doesn't set Thedas on fire in her repressed anguish?"

"Now you're just mocking me," he pouted, giving his best put-upon expression.

"You make it too easy," she shot back. Spinning on her heels, she shouted over her shoulder, "If you must know, I hear Highever is nice, and the teyrn's oldest son is getting married; the town is having one big party in celebration."

_Party? _Now there was a thought. Parties meant good food, women, and – best of all – some damn fine ales. He didn't partake much in alcohol, but he certainly wouldn't turn down a fine Antivan brandy if offered. "Well, since I was heading there _anyway_…"

_**

* * *

A/N: **__This is, admittedly, the result of boredom, an absurd love of my favorite apostate, and a Dragon Age obsession. I SHOULD be working on my Warden Trilogy, though I've been stalled on it for a reason I only recently realized: a lack of creative freedom. Until I can figure out how to remedy that, it'll probably be stalled for awhile._

_As far as this one goes, I like it. Exploring what Anders would be like without the tower's influence is interesting to me, and familiar faces will definitely pop up, both mages and not. As for Anders, I want to actually know what those of you who've bothered to read this little random thing of mine think. Would Anders still join the Wardens? If so, do you think earlier, during the Blight, or not at all? Or would he leave amongst the refugees for the Free Marches? What about Neria? Does she seem the type to be a Warden? I really would like input on it since I want to make this little exercise in amusement interactive._

_I'm not sure how often this will be updated, so I'm making no promises. That being said, I WILL point out that getting feedback inspires me greatly, as reviews are the only way I know whether readers like and/or appreciate the things I write. And I like it when people enjoy my stories, so please, if you like it, review._

_Until next time._

_~SRD_


	2. The Test

**_Just wanted to say thank you for the responses! They certainly gave me some things to think about. Hopefully this next installment will live up to your expectations. =)_**

* * *

_**Chapter Two**_

_The Test_

_**

* * *

9:25 Dragon – Highever**_

The shemlen snored.

Since that was the worst thing Neria could complain about, she was grateful. Despite his tendency to hover, Anders was even halfway decent company – far better then her previous companions, regardless. And he stayed well on his side of their makeshift camp, thankfully. She was no helpless maiden who would be brought to tears because she'd been raped and abused for over a year, but Neria probably _would've_ turned him into kindling if he'd invaded her personal space. Whether he realized that or was simply decent enough not to do so was debatable.

Staring up into the sky through the trees, she narrowed her eyes, the muscles in her arms twitching uneasily as they itched to _do something._ Before Tesla and his bumbling bunch, she'd used her magic daily for everything – the energy was unbearable when she didn't use it and just left it there, untapped, for long periods of time. Inactivity in any form made her antsy – more so now than before.

So when her ears picked up the tell-tale rustling of leaves and twigs crackling along the forest floor, Neria could admit to being perhaps _vaguely_ overly enthusiastic in her initial attack. The fireball exploded with an earth-trembling boom, setting the forest alight in flames that licked along the dead leaves and dry bark of the trees.

This was what Anders woke up to. While she did sympathize with his obvious surprise, surely he wasn't honestly shocked? An apostate's life was never easy.

"I thought we talked about this," he whined half-heartedly, more amused than anything. "No burning Thedas to the ground…especially while I'm asleep!"

Neria only shrugged. "Templars," she said simply, pointing to the area she had decimated. "Four of them."

A quick five minute walk into the forest depths confirmed it and Anders muttered something that sounded, amusingly enough, like a curse.

"So the shem _can_ curse…" She was poking at him, but Neria couldn't help it. It was what she did. She poked and prodded.

It was, in hindsight, what always got her into trouble.

They stopped back at their camp only long enough to gather their belongings before heading out, her eyes heavy from no sleep and his drooping slightly from not enough of it. A quick rejuvenation spell solved that problem, however, and she felt one hit her as well moments later as it became much easier to focus.

"We'll arrive at Highever in the morning at this rate," Anders noted.

Neria nodded, though she was in no particular hurry. There was nothing in Highever aside from it being very elf-friendly, according to chatter that she'd garnered through eavesdropping on travelers. The teyrn sounded like an unusually fair-minded shem, which made his close association with the very anti-elf Arl of Amaranthine something of an anomaly. She'd figured on staying a week to rest before tracking down the pirate ship she'd heard about in Amaranthine and bartering for passage into the Free Marches. It was very easy, after all, to get lost in the treacherous lands between their city-states where even templars hesitated to go without sufficient backup.

Whether Anders decided on following her to even there was his business.

On the one hand, it was annoying. Neria _liked_ traveling alone. She'd been alone since her own mother had tossed her out the door the day she'd shown herself to be magically inclined. Foolish Maker-fearing woman. It made surviving that much easier when all she had to worry about was herself. That he was a shem and automatically made her sleep with one hand on her sword, Spellweaver, didn't help things either.

On the flip side, however, he was a healer. That was an invaluable skill since she couldn't heal a paper cut without having it scar. Most of her delays came when she got injuries that any partially intelligent healer would've been able to heal in minutes. His being a shem also had its advantage since she attracted fewer stares than when she travelled alone. While it rankled to no end that she was presumed to be his _servant_ (it would be a cold day in hell when she would submit to any shem willingly), she was practical enough to see the benefit in the certain level of anonymity his presence afforded her.

She could bide her time if that was the case. So long as Anders didn't invade her personal space, she could put up with him for awhile. She'd bided her time well with Tesla, hadn't she? Sure enough, retribution had been sweetly granted after over a year of hell in his clutches. Her time in his 'care' would've been a lot less if not for those thrice-damned smites.

As the town of Highever came into view as they crested one of the Coastland's many hills at daybreak, Neria paused to take it all in. She'd never been one to dream of idyllic little towns and a quiet, peaceful life as some man's wife who did nothing but tend the house and punch out children every year. She had nothing against that particular image, but she doubted she'd ever be happy in that sort of life.

"It looks like something out of the stories my mother would tell me as a boy," Anders mentioned with an unreadable look on his face.

_So you CAN be serious,_ Neria thought, though she didn't say it out loud. It would be rude when, as far as shems went, he'd been pleasant enough during the entire trip. _There are certainly worse people I could be travelling with. _"Fresh baked pies in windows and happy little kittens mewling at your feet?" she quipped instead, only half joking.

The domesticated image definitely fit _him_, right down to the little mini apostates crawling around at his feet shooting lightning at each other.

"Mmm…pie…" He had the most ludicrous grin as he said this, licking his lips in what she hoped was a much exaggerated fashion. "It's the Ferelden dream, you know? A good woman, fabulous food, and the right to shoot lightning at fools."

"You don't say? I was under the impression it was any woman, a fine sword, and a faithful mabari."

Anders wasn't even fazed in the slightest. "In a pinch, yes, but every Ferelden man aims for the better dream."

Neria sighed, exasperated. "Anyone ever tell you that you're a fool?"

"Such a thing may have been said a time or two…"

* * *

Despite it being absurdly early by the time they entered Highever's market district, it was surprisingly lively and filled with chatter as women and merchants buzzed about the marriage of Teyrn Cousland's oldest son.

"_I heard she's a merchant's daughter from Antiva…"_

"_Very exotic…quite the looker…"_

"…_I heard it's a shotgun union…!"_

Anders rolled his eyes at the last scandalized whisper. There was always one particularly nasty gossiper in the bunch. It never failed. Neria's ears twitched too, the tips of her pointed ears peaking out from the veil of her naturally sleek hair just the slightest bit. No doubt she was hearing even more then he was. Elven senses were notorious for being far sharper than human senses could ever be.

No one seemed bothered by their appearance, though there were a handful of innocently curious looks their way. Strangers were always a subject of curiosity no matter where you went. He did his best to pay attention to the murmurs regardless, just in case, which is why he didn't see the thing in his path until it let out a most unholy shriek and forced his gaze downward to the source of said noise.

"Oh…look at the cute little kitty!"

"_Meow!"_

Anders picked up the tiny little tabby kitten, its chartreuse eyes staring sharply at him in indignation despite it looking like little more then a ball of orange fuzz. Cooing at the little thing as he nuzzled it against his cheek, he grinned as it decided he was suitably remorseful for stepping on his tail and purred, its small body burrowing against his palms happily.

Neria watched this all in bemused exasperation. "I was kidding about the kitten, you realize, right?" Sniffing, the expression on her face was priceless when she caught sight of a fresh baked pie in a nearby window. "Oh for the love of Andraste…" she sighed, somehow annoyed.

"You don't strike me as a religious sort," he noted, tucking the kitten into his pack with a few strips of dried fish that it happily nibbled on.

"I'm not," she retorted dryly. "Is this another thing common to healers; taking in every stray they find?"

"I don't know," he mused with faux innocence. "Some might accuse you of being a stray too, so I suppose it just might be."

The amused twinkling in her eyes was the only reason Anders didn't actually run at the look that crossed her face at being called a stray. To the untrained eye, she just looked pissed as hell, her hackles rising like any typically over-sensitive elf. They were terribly easy to find, after all. Fortunately, Neria herself seemed to possess a good sense of humor about most things despite having some pretty valid reasons to be bitter about humans – and men in particular. It was both something to be admired and something he worried would come bite her in the butt later.

_Not your business,_ his brain, the survivor part of him said.

_You must help those you can if you are able,_ his heart, the healer side of him reminded.

The healer, unfortunately, wanted nothing more then to help Neria heal whatever wounds the men of that inn had left upon her – physically and otherwise. Physically, she seemed to be in peak condition, but he had no clue as to her mental state. She was engaging, but at a distance…and he didn't feel right just brazenly inquiring about such a sensitive issue when he'd known her all of two days. Anders had been doing his best not to invade her sense of space, but it seemed time and trust were the only things that would get him the answers the healer in him wanted before he could, in good conscience, leave her be.

_But do I seriously intend to travel with her that long?_ She didn't strike him as someone who would easily trust him in a few days. A few weeks, perhaps, but did he seriously intend on waiting with her that long?

If the healer had his way, he would.

The survivor in him, however, was calling him seven kinds of stupid. Instinctually, he knew Neria was also the type to attract trouble. She was a young elf, pretty in a youthful way, and didn't exactly seem to mince her words no matter who she spoke to. If men weren't trying to coax her into their beds, they'd be trying to kill her for offending them or some other equally sensitive issue. It would attract all manner of unwanted attention, be it the local authorities or the Chantry itself.

If the survivor had _his_ way, they'd be ditching her in this town, knowing she'd be as safe as any apostate could be here, and run for the nearest mountain to hide until it was safe to start seeking passage out of Ferelden.

At this point, Anders suspected the healer was winning.

"Your brain might explode if you think any harder," she quipped, flicking him in the forehead as she leaned in close enough that he got a smell of apples and cider, of all things. She smelled of Harvest Day with fresh baked pies and fresh cider, the scent of roasting pig clear across the entirety of Denerim and the surrounding area for miles.

It was distracting as hell and he was only a man; a young, virile man _who had better control than this, damn it!_

The look on her face didn't help. It not only suggested that she _knew_ what was going through his mind but that she was waiting to see what he would do. She was _testing him_, damn her sneaky like elf mind; _daring_ him, perhaps, to prove himself as untrustworthy as her former captors.

Anders damn near bit his tongue before he stepped back from her, his arms twitching behind his back as they itched to merely reach out and maybe touch the strand of ink black hair that fell in front of her eyes…just to tuck it behind her ear, of course.

"It already has," he joked with feeling, laughing.

She stepped back too – and was that a smile? _I must be seeing things. _"So it seems," Neria noted. "Shall we find an inn? Unless you suggest we camp out in some filthy alleyway…"

"It'd be just like home," he needled, only half-kidding. It wouldn't be the first time he'd slept in the filthy streets of some city back alley.

Neria merely snorted her disdain and marched off in the direction of the nearest inn. "All the more reason not to, I say."

* * *

He was cloaked in the late afternoon shadows, hidden behind one of the many towers of the castle as he listened for each footfall as the guards passed by in the hall below him. _Clank. Clank. Clank._ The heavy chainmail rattled with every movement, the sound growing distant until it faded completely. He moved them, slippery as a shadow, through the courtyard and beyond the gates, staying concealed in the shadows just in case until the front towers of Highever Castle were but specks in the distance.

Only then did Aedan Cousland stop and grin, pleased with himself.

It was a weekly routine, almost; the people of Highever knew him by face and name. No one ever said anything when he snuck out to mingle, however, and he liked to think his efforts at not being 'just another noble' went appreciated. His father, Bryce Cousland, did so whenever he could as well, though his duties as teyrn prevented him from coming down into the town much at all anymore. His father went out of his way to ensure his people knew they were heard and were happy and he was all the more popular for it. Arl Howe thought he was a fool for wasting his time with such things, but Aedan disagreed. The people _did_ seem to always appreciate the effort.

"Lord Aedan!" Jacoby, the innkeeper called out with a grin when he saw him. This made several heads turn as he walked into the Little Mabari Inn, smiling honestly as the people enjoying dinner downstairs greeted him enthusiastically or, in the cases of those passing through, in startled surprise. Nobles mingling amongst the common folk wasn't something widely done in many places, after all.

"How has business been, Jacoby?" he asked the older man when he'd finished greeting the farmers, their wives, and some merchants who he knew had stalls in Highever's market – most of whom had been natives of Highever since his boyhood.

"Splendidly, milord!" he exclaimed. "Plenty of traffic with King Cailan's marriage in Denerim and Lord Fergus' own celebration here! The return traffic should fill us up quite nicely in the next week or so."

"Glad to hear it." He saluted the older man with the drink he passed him with a wink, sitting comfortably at the bar while he made small talk with some of the travelers around him. Most were quite eager to talk to him – even more so once they realized he was the teyrn's son – but he couldn't help noticing an elf in the corner who seemed quite intent on ignoring them all as if they weren't there.

That she was quite possibly the loveliest elf he'd ever seen didn't hurt in making him notice her, either.

"Hi," he said with his most charming smile once he'd politely excused himself from the others. "I'm Aedan Cousland."

He was struck by how luminous her blue eyes were, even if they did regard him as if he were some sort of undesirable bug. Her ink-dark hair contrasted sharply with her milky pale skin, the tendrils looking like a black river against her skin. They were similar in age, too, if he guessed right – elves did tend to look much younger for longer periods of time, so he could've been wrong. "Noble?" she inquired in a voice that was politely detached and yet sounded as if it sang with every syllable uttered.

"My father is the teyrn," he agreed, nodding.

He was, admittedly, unused to having people snort disdainfully at him like she did, but Aedan was rather fascinated despite himself. Everyone had a story, after all, and it was part of why he came down to the market as often as he did. He loved hearing the stories of travelers just passing through or the day-to-day stories of the people who lived and worked in Highever's busy market district. Aedan liked people in general, though he rationally knew not everyone would like him.

"What brings you to Highever?" he pressed on, curious.

"Curiosity," she said shortly.

It had been a long time since Aedan felt like pouting, but there it was; she was remarkably tight-lipped and he was, admittedly, unused to not being liked. He was a likable guy, too. It was a noble thing; his only vice from being born to privilege. Most of the nobles he knew were the same way, though it only applied to their fellow peers rather than everyone in their cases.

"I get the impression you don't like me much," he said bluntly.

"I don't know you, so I can't know you enough to not like you." Again, she spoke as if he were an idiot. That he didn't mind _as_ much – Thomas, Arl Howe's eldest, always did it enough that Aedan had learned to block that particular tone of voice out completely lest he do something rude like shove a dagger up his ass to go along with the very long stick he had there already. Nathaniel had been a stick in the mud sometimes, but at least he'd never had that proverbial stick shoved so far up his butt that it had made him a jerk. Too serious for his own good, yes, but never an outright jerk.

Ah, he did miss his old friend. A shame he had to get sent to the Free Marches for squiring. Aedan had made such _progress_ in getting him to loosen up…

"Get to know me then," he said out of the blue, partly because he missed having a friend his age and partly because she really _was_ pretty and he never could resist a pretty girl. "If you still don't like me by the end of the day tomorrow then I won't complain about you not answering me."

"Hnn…" She was curious, at least, which was progress. Curiosity was always good. "Very well. _If_ you prove to be not as irritating as I think you are, then I will answer your questions."

Aedan almost clapped his hands together as he grinned widely. "Great! I'll come by tomorrow then and I'll show you around Highever. It'll be fun!"

_**

* * *

A/N: **__Yet another PC makes an appearance. Not sure if he'll be in it overly much, but Aedan will at least appear in the next chapter as well trying to get Neria to lighten up a bit. Think he will succeed?_

_I'm glad it sounds as if Anders is mostly still Anders. To me, his most defining traits were always his humor in any situation and his capacity for caring. In Awakenings, given his lifestyle, I always imagined that sort of thing might get him in trouble – his caring for others vs. the instinct for freedom (as shown if you tell him upon meeting him to get going; he comes back rather then getting away). In this case, freedom is a bit easier since there is no phylactery to help the templars, but his healer's instinct seems to dominate much of his personality…at least I think so. It's why I think he's the type who would continue to hang around Neria, who has yet to really show any outward signs of 'healing', despite the unwanted attention he knows she'd bring to them._

_So what sort of things might there be in Highever for our prickly elven apostate and the overly exuberant younger son of Thedas' second most powerful family to do? Any ideas?_

_Until next time._

_~SRD_


	3. Mayhem in the Market

_**Chapter Three**_

_Mayhem in the Market_

_**9:25 Dragon – Highever**_

Highever was every town he remembered growing up.

While not quite as bustling as the port city of Amaranthine about half a day's walk to the east, Highever was more famous for its Merchant's Row where anything worth buying in all Thedas could be found. It was the Coastlands' hidden gem – a secret only native Fereldans knew about. Denerim had great stuff too, of course, but merchants there charged outrageously and catered to the more foreign tastes of travelers with lingering Orlesian influences. Highever, however, was pure Ferelden and inspired warm feelings all around (as did its ruling family, the Couslands) with its long history of supporting the Crown and its most recent rebellion.

Only in Ferelden were Mabari puppies proudly sold on the street.

Squatting in front of one of the kennels, Anders had to admit they were pretty cute. He liked animals of all flavors, really, but cats were still his preference. They were simply more independent, like him, and required less attention.

_I should get Neria a dog._ The elf seemed like the type who would like an endlessly devoted companion, such as a Mabari. Better yet, they couldn't talk despite being smart enough to understand the Fereldan tongue – a trait he was _positive_ she'd like. Besides, any true Fereldan had to have a dog.

There was the chance she wasn't native to Ferelden, though. The thought had crossed his mind once or twice when he'd heard her mumble in her sleep, her tone accented with the vaguest hint of something else. It wasn't Orlesian, though – of that Anders was certain. If anything, Neria's disdain for humans paled in comparison to her outright contempt for Orlais. He'd found _that_ out just before she'd left that morning, intending to wander around town for a bit.

_Wonder where she went off to?_ It wasn't as if they needed to be attached at the hip, but his curiosity was buzzing. What _did_ she do when she had free time? Odd jobs to make some coin like him, he supposed. They would need food money to hold them over until they could travel to Amaranthine where, ideally, he would see about finding a ship out of Ferelden for awhile. Nevarra, maybe? Or Antiva. He heard nice things about Antiva despite their high assassination rates. The Free Marches and its city-states were ruled by the templars, or so he'd heard through his contact in the Mage's Collective, making them an undesirable location for any apostate.

Rivain was unpleasant for apostates despite being a veritable heaven for the elven people. While they didn't keep their mages on leashes (quite literally) like the Qunari, their culture was very similar. Rivain had no Chantry or Templars, however, which was a plus. The Rivaini weren't Andrastians, much to the Chantry's chagrin, and not only had a peaceful treaty with the Dalish elves, but apparently were on very peaceful terms with the Qunari people as well.

Even Anders knew the Chantry stood no chance against the entirety of Rivain with both the Dalish _and_ Qunari backing them up. The Qunari alone were nothing to sneeze at. Once upon a time, though Orlais would prefer to forget the fact, the Dalish had nearly conquered Val Royeaux during the Chantry's Exalted March of the Dales if not for some last minute help. Rivain itself was a peaceful nation, but its people were practical above all else; their warriors were almost ruthlessly so.

_What a wonderfully ridiculous world we live in,_ he thought cheerfully. _Still, it brings me back to my original thought; how long does Neria plan on sticking around Highever for? I'm hoping to stay at LEAST two months before skipping off to Amaranthine._

It had also crossed Anders' mind to perhaps see if his elven companion was…amenable to the idea of continuing her travels with him for a short time. She didn't seem to be going anywhere specific, either. The healer in him would prefer it, if only so he could have more time to help her cope with any remnants she held from her time with Tesla. Neria had little tells that spoke volumes to him – the tension if he stepped too close or the self-conscious way she hugged herself when surrounded by a lot of people. It would be incorrect to say she coped well; it was more like she _bottled_ her emotions well. Neria, as far as he could tell, was doing the very _elven_ thing and shoving it away into the farthest recesses of her mind to be forgotten. Too many elves became deeply embittered that way.

She was too young to become a prisoner of her own mind like that.

_She might like a dog,_ Anders thought again. Dogs were surprisingly therapeutic, all things considered. Some people could talk to their dogs more easily then anyone else since they never talked back and didn't understand the concept of pity – they simply loved their owners unconditionally. Neria was the kind of girl, he suspected, who would see the appeal in that.

After she stopped glaring at him and calling him seven kinds of a fool for getting her one, of course.

* * *

Neria _glared._

Undeterred, Aedan grinned.

The mabari hound who trotted loyally at the shem's side just whined, looking between them both with a very confused expression.

She'd fully expected him to forget his ridiculous promise to show her around his beloved town just so he could make her tell him her story. Honestly, Neria didn't even have that much to tell. She was simply living day to day out of the reach of the templars and chantry. There was no grand story after the whole Maker-fearing-mother-tossed-me-in-the-streets thing. Her father was an elf, obviously, and had loved to sing. Her only image of the man was of him singing some elven lullaby to her when she was very small, so obviously he'd at least cared about her. It had crossed Neria's mind to possibly try and find said man, but she had absolutely no idea on how to go about that without heading back to her hometown first.

_That_, she thought viciously, _is NOT an option._

"Come on!" the light-hearted shem exclaimed, drawing her from her thoughts and grabbing her hand to tug her forward before she could jump and rip her hand away out of instinct. He was appallingly cheerful, really, and every bit as annoying as she'd suspected. "You _must_ try this!"

The stall he dragged her off to see was run by a dwarf, to her surprise. The stout little woman whistled as she worked, bouncing from one foot to the other while meat sizzled on the grill and sent thick billows of steam into the air above her. "Ah, laddie!" she beamed. Like with all the other stall owners, the presence of the teyrn's younger son was unsurprising and oddly welcomed. "Come with a friend now, eh?" With a truly lewd little smile, the dwarven woman leered gleefully, "Girlfriend?"

The shem blushed so hard it brought out the reddish highlights in his otherwise dark brown hair more prominently. "Nadia!"

The dwarf, Nadia, only laughed gleefully under his scandalized look and Neria's own appalled expression. "You must be new to town," she said confidently, addressing her now. "Ole' Nadia knows all the faces in Highever and she ain't ever seen yours before. Staying or passing by?"

"Passing by," she said automatically. The ship she was waiting for, _The Siren's Call,_ was due to make port in Amaranthine next in a month. She would take it all the way back the Llomeryn and, from there, she would hopefully make her way without issue towards Antiva. There were always jobs there, she'd heard, though they were almost always connected in some way to the infamous Antivan Crows. Mercenary work itself was dangerous – especially for a young female elf like her. Neria knew no other way to make a living, however, short of selling herself on the streets.

_Not an option,_ she thought viciously. She saw what happened to elves on the street corners. They withered before their time and died horrible deaths from illnesses they contracted. Neria had more dignity and pride then that.

_You let Tesla do as he wished,_ an insipid little voice in her head that sounded vaguely like her mother's sneered. Neria almost snarled, remembering; the bruising grips on her arms and the savagery in which he'd taken her night after night. _You fought in the beginning, yes, but you let him use you whenever he wished in the end like a common wh-_

Her thought was cut short by a stick of meat getting shoved into her mouth, her eyes snapping to Aedan whose smile had gotten even wider. Nadia was giving her a look Neria didn't understand, though she was mostly concentrating on cooking her foods that people eagerly came to buy now. Neria chewed once from instinct, the savory tastes rolling pleasantly in her mouth as she swallowed one cube of meat. "What is that?" she wondered.

"Nug," he told her as he swallowed a second cube. He was like a dog, she thought in appalled amusement, swallowing his food without really chewing it. "It's a dwarven delicacy you only find in Orzammar. Not sure how Nadia gets her supply, but she sells it among the other food stuff she has. Really great tasting, right? It's like pork, but with the tenderness of rabbit meat."

_It really is tasty,_ she decided as she bit into it and actually savored it. There was very little spice used, aside from a few herbs to draw out more of the meat's natural flavors.

Good as it was, though, it didn't distract Neria from the people watching them.

She'd sensed them that morning when Aedan had ambushed her once she'd left the inn, intent on finding a few odd jobs for some coin to pass the time. Three men, two human and one elf, following at a discreet distance. The shem was unaware, it seemed, and their attention was solely on him – stalking his every move. Neria had kept her presence as veiled as possible; it would do no good if they realized she was a mage and not just some weak little elven girl.

Neria didn't realize it until later, but she was actually nudging Aedan towards the bright signature of her companion who was also in the market. Anders was either incapable of squelching his presence or simply didn't want to – either seemed possible. It did, however, make him a very easy presence to notice. The three men were inching closer to presumably make their move and, if possible, she wanted the healer nearby just in case. Her fingers were itching to let loose a lightning spell, her earlier irritation only feeding her need for battle. Neria wasn't made for healing – she'd known that before she'd ever hit her teens. She was a mage best suited for battling and destruction – an offensive fighter unmatched by any she had met thus far.

Despite shems of all flavors being unbearably annoying, she didn't generally wish ill on them unless they personally did something to piss her off.

Across the market, through the hundreds of bodies, she caught Anders' eyes as he stood to his full height, his hands filled with…something. She couldn't really see what, exactly. Neria didn't have time to look and see what it was, either, because the whistle of an arrow flying caught her ear and she whirled just as a man who'd been walking behind where Aedan stood, oblivious, was struck in the shoulder.

Then all hell broke loose.

People screamed as they ran every which way, knocking others over and trampling them in their haste. The market was in chaos but, the true motive for it was achieved; she _and_ Aedan were penned in, unable to move more then a few inches in any direction. Arrows continued to rain down into the crowd, each closer to Aedan then the last, and the shem himself seemed aware of this, fighting as he was to get away from the crowd. The guards from Castle Cousland pouring into the market as the people tried to flee prevented the hoard of people from thinning as quickly as it should, however, and Neria's hackles rose as she felt the increase in mana from somewhere to her right, cursing.

_One of them is a mage!_

Several things happened at once, then.

Neria tensed, bracing herself for the smite she knew would come.

An arrow pierced her side as she fell, the pain dulled from the sudden loss of breath she had as the smite hit her full force from behind.

Anders was there too, standing straight and keeping her propped up, looking so utterly unaffected by the effects of the templar's smite that she couldn't help scowling at him.

_So not fair,_ she tried to say, but only managed it as a thought before everything went dark.

* * *

Anders wasn't entirely sure whether to say Neria had the best or _worst_ luck ever.

How she even came to _be_ in Aedan Cousland's company was beyond him. It worked to their advantage, however, seeing as they were 'honored guests' in Castle Cousland for the moment. His mana reserves were half restored, thankfully, though he had to restrain himself from healing Neria the rest of the way. Their secrets were safe at the moment; his impatience blowing their nicely coincidental cover wouldn't help any.

The mabari pup inside his robes yipped at him, as if agreeing, and Anders scratched its tiny head absently. His yet-to-be-named kitten and their things had been gathered from the Little Mabari Inn and brought to the castle as well, or so Fergus Cousland, the eldest son of the teyrn, had said. He was a nice guy, all things considered, and obviously had a good relationship with his younger brother if the headlock he'd dragged him off in was any indication.

Leaning back in the chair beside Neria's bed in the room they had been given in the guest quarters, Anders pondered this fortuitous change of pace. They were to dine with the Couslands tonight in the hall on the teyrn's insistence. He was very grateful they'd kept his youngest son safe, though in actuality he hadn't done a thing. Neria, from what he'd seen, had simply had the misfortune of walking into an arrow meant for the boy's back.

Not that they needed to know that.

"Where are we…?"

He grinned, relieved when the elf in question sat up with a grown, a hand to her head that he healed of her headache with a quick wave of his hand. "Castle Cousland as honored guests of the teyrn. Not sure how you managed to swing a date with the teyrn's second son without my knowing, but…"

Neria shot him that _'you are such an idiot'_ look of hers again. "Do they know?"

"You fainted from the arrow that hit you," he confirmed, pointing to her bandaged side that she touched automatically, wincing. "The castle's healers did a fine job," he said lightly, though inwardly Anders added, _I could've done a lot better._ Of course, they were Circle-trained healers; they didn't have the field experience apostates like him had. Injuries like Neria's were as simple as paper cuts for him to heal.

"You could've just healed me completely," she grumped, echoing his thoughts, and Anders grinned at the veiled compliment.

"Not without outing ourselves," he retorted, and Neria slumped at that, annoyed. For once, she looked the fifteen years she was supposed to be. "Some bed rest won't kill you."

"No, but it'll make me miss the boat I'm waiting for," she huffed. "Its captain isn't prone to _waiting_ for people."

"Boat?" It was perhaps the first time she'd spoken of any future plans with him at all.

"_The Siren's Call_ docks in Amaranthine next month," she prattled, arms crossing habitually in a vaguely defensive pose. "I was hoping to take it to Llomeryn and maybe make my way to Antiva. I heard they always have jobs there and it seemed like as good of a place as any to go."

"Funny, I was actually planning on heading there myself," he chuckled.

Neria stared at him for a moment, a contemplative look in her eye before she said cautiously, "You planning on coming with me or something?"

"That all depends on you, I think." Anders leaned his head against the back of his propped up hand, smiling slightly. "I wouldn't mind it. Despite your penchant for trouble, it's surprisingly nice having the company for once."

"Right, because you have a thing for picking up strays," she joked, staring pointedly at the mabari puppy's head who decided to poke itself out of his robes and investigate. Her elven blue eyes followed the clumsy puppy's movements as it tumbled from his robes and ambled over the bed, sniffing at her hand curiously.

Without warning, the pup wriggled his butt and settled himself down to gnaw gleefully at her hand.

It didn't hurt, considering Neria looked more amused then anything, and Anders felt pleased with himself at the victory. "What can I say? I'm just a sucker for the sad, doe-eyed thing."

"I'm _not_ doe-eyed!"

"Of course not," he grinned, blatantly patronizing her as he watched the familiar scowl cross her lips at the same time amusement twinkled in her eyes. It was rather fun, making her go all twinkly-eyed and irritated. "You'd have to be a stray and you always say you're not one, right?"

Neria glared, caught by her own words, and blushed. _Blushed!_ Anders wouldn't have believed it if the evidence weren't right in front of him, clear as day. "Stupid shem," she huffed.

"Aw, now you can do better then that," he called over his shoulder as he moved to leave, leaving her sputtering indignantly while he made his way to the palace kitchens for a snack.

Fergus Cousland was there, nibbling on some fruit the old cook Naan had tossed at him, and arched a curious eyebrow at him as he walked in. "Something good happen, friend? Your grin is threatening to split your face in half."

"Nothing much," he told him loftily, swiping an orange and grinning charmingly at the cantankerous old woman when she glowered at him. "I was just indulging myself in a decidedly new guilty pleasure of mine."

Fergus just stared at him, obviously confused and curious.

Anders didn't bother clarifying.

_**

* * *

A/N: I think this is a good stop point for chapter three. Anders and Neria have gotten in well with the Couslands, though they aren't staying long. And at least for a little while, they'll be traveling together to Antiva. Will they deal with the Crows? Almost certainly. But will they get to meet a pre-Origins Zevran? What do you think? Yay or nay?**_

_**Next chapter looks to be fun, too, with our duo (or quartet, as it is, with yet-to-be-named kitten and the mabari pup now coming along) in Amaranthine to try and track down the captain of **__'The Siren's Call'__**. Should it be Isabella, or do you think it would be her unnamed 'lord husband' who is captain still? I'm still debating which might be more fun.**_

_**Until next time!**_

_**~SRD**_


	4. The Siren's Call

_**Chapter Four**_

_The Siren's Call_

_**

* * *

9:25 Dragon – Amaranthine**_

"Very nice, for nobles," Anders mused the day they left Castle Cousland, the teyrn and his family actually seeing them off with sacks that had been filled with enough food to last them a week easily. In the month he and Neria had stayed, five more attempts on the life of one of the Couslands had occurred. They had their own fair share of bad luck, it seemed, though Anders had to admit he hoped they stayed well. They were amazingly decent folks considering they were nobility and second in power only to the king and perhaps the Guerrins.

Even Neria had to nod. "Best we got moving, anyway. That chantry woman was getting too nosy."

"All chantry clerics are nosy," Anders snorted, though he had to agree. Mother Mallol had been eyeing them harder in their last week, which was part of the reason they were departing a few days ahead of schedule.

Neria didn't hear anyone in pursuit, which was fortunate. He hadn't realized how sharply tuned her senses were until she'd kicked him awake that night during Kill-a-Cousland attempt number three and prevented him from getting a brand new piercing through his chest. The one in his ear that Fergus convinced him to get (while absolutely piss drunk, of course) was enough, thank you.

She also proved that silly sword she carried really _wasn't_ just for show.

Watching Neria wield a weapon taller than she was had been both amusing and mildly intimidating. Anders could wield a blade if necessary but he was rubbish at actual combat – something he would have to rectify considering he would be a sitting duck if an enemy got too close. While he had someone around to cover for his weakness in close combat, Anders was determined to see to it that he got some kind of training.

He wouldn't be traveling with Neria forever, after all.

They arrived at Amaranthine a little before nightfall and snagged a room at the Crown and Lion Inn with only a little bit of a fuss. The innkeeper wasn't necessarily kind to elves who didn't have a human with them, apparently, and Anders made a mental note to track down the ship as quickly as he could, lest Neria's temper get the better of her. She had more restraint than she gave herself credit for, but her patience was about as long as his and even Anders was getting irritated with the man every time he talked.

Unlike Highever, which gave off a warm feeling no matter where you went, Amaranthine felt oppressive and vaguely sinister. Anders felt jumpy just walking the streets, convinced that he'd be jumped by templars at every corner.

It was, he thought, rather ridiculous.

"Looking for a little fun tonight, young man?" a woman called out from the shadows of one of the alleys. Off hand, his brain thought, _prostitute,_ but even a cursory glance confirmed that would be incorrect. She moved like a fox, or maybe a snake was a better comparison. The light boots she wore were well worn but high quality with several more years of hard work left in them yet.

_Rogue,_ he decided, watching the way her body slunk towards him in a…very _distracting _manner. He was just a guy, after all. Women had some very _distracting_ ways in which they could move.

"I'm always looking for fun," he said with a panty-melting grin that never failed. From the coy smile on her face as she looked at him, it hadn't failed yet.

"I do so hate being on land," she pouted as she drew close to him, and Anders counted at least four daggers on her person as his hands copped a generous feel of the curves hidden beneath her ratty-looking cloak. _Dangerous_, his ever fading brain whispered to him.

"You've a ship, then?" he asked lightly, and Anders relished the feel of warm, womanly curves beneath his hands. It'd been a long time since his last woman. He explored them generously as they ducked back into another alley, and he almost jumped when he felt her lips press teasing kisses along his jaw and near his ears.

"But of course, my able bodied young man," she purred. "So young…so virile. Young enough to be my son, even."

She was hardly that old. Late twenties, early thirties tops. Quite the generous age gap to his eighteen, though hardly anything that drastic. "Perish the thought, my good woman. And you know what they say about older women and younger men…"

His lady of the night chuckled throatily. "Better to please me, yes?" she whispered in his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

"Whatever my lady wishes…" He _may_ have sighed that, but Anders liked to think his brain hadn't dissolved that much. Yet.

"Call me Namaya, my lovely boy" she breathed, and he caught a flash of her elven ears in the moonlight. "My name is Namaya."

* * *

Anders was nowhere to be found.

Neria had no idea where he'd gone last night, though she hadn't asked either. She didn't care to know. His presence did keep that stupid innkeeper at bay, however, and she had no desire to go track down some food from downstairs if he wasn't _here_.

Being hungry never put her in a good mood, either.

_Where is he?_ His bed hadn't been slept in at all, meaning he'd probably found a companion for the night. He _was_ still a human, after all. Humans seemed predisposed towards being sex-driven while elves like her seemed more money-driven. It was her own personal theory, anyway, though she'd yet to be proven wrong.

From their spots on her bed, the kitten and her puppy (she still couldn't believe he'd bought her one!) mewled and yipped softly as they stared at her, waiting. Obviously, they were hungry, though she had no idea what they were to eat. Cream for the kitten, probably, and some meat for the pup, but that meant she'd have to go to the kitchens and deal with the annoying shems…

_Ugh. Really don't want to._

Outside the windows, she could hear the sounds of Amaranthine's small market buzzing to life, vendors setting up their stalls for a day of trade with the city's largely transient population. It was all rather unremarkable until she caught the distant sounds of murmuring as people speculated over some poor fool who was tied up naked and hanging over the city's battlements, apparently.

"It couldn't be," she said to the kitten as it leapt gracefully off the bed to twine around her feet, purring. "He doesn't strike me as a stupid shem."

Her mabari yipped, its face burrowing under her pillows.

"It can't be him," she said to the puppy with more emphasis. "It's…probably someone else."

Closing her eyes, Neria felt around for his presence, easily finding him to the south of the city…near the battlements. She could physically feel the respect she'd built up for the healer in her mind slowly begin to seep out of her, groaning as she came to the conclusion that _yes_, he was indeed that stupid.

The sodding fool had been robbed.

* * *

Anders didn't much appreciate being publicly humiliated like that after some pretty damn good sex, but he was decidedly less appreciative of the dirty look Neria shot him when she came to rescue him from the city guard that afternoon.

"I was…" he tried to explain as he tugged uncomfortably at the dirty clothing he'd been given, only to get cut off.

"I don't care." Anders opened his mouth, but she actually _shushed_ him, shaking her head. "I _really_ don't want to know. Let's just get our things and make for the boat; I found the captain and bartered passage for both of us. The ship is at the docks and she said her second in command will give us our rooms."

"At least let me _explain_…"

"Hanging naked by the back of your small clothes off the battlements does that rather nicely." The disdain was thick in Neria's tone and Anders winced, conceding he probably deserved some of that. Honestly, he was usually smarter then to give into any woman's advances. He'd barely had to say two words before Namaya had jumped him. No woman was that easy unless she had ulterior motive…not in his experience, anyway.

_The Siren's Call_ was a beauty of a ship – sleek and quick looking, making it every apostate's dream. The image of a naked woman stood prominent at the ship's bow, as beautiful as any example of Orlesian art he'd ever seen.

Neria saw it too and said lightly, "Pretty," before continuing on her way up the gangplank.

Anders nearly fell off it about halfway up when he caught sight of the person atop it.

"_You!"_

To her credit, Namaya looked as surprised as he did for all of five seconds before her face (which wasn't as pretty as he'd thought last night) sneered at him. "Come to reclaim your dignity, boy?" Looking at Neria, her expression soured more, if possible. "You and your _pet?"_

Now, Anders wasn't one to flatter himself unduly. If he was, he'd like to think Neria rose up like some vengeful child-goddess to defend his honor, but that was wishful thinking and he knew it. Despite having traveled about a month with the elf girl, Anders had a fairly good grasp of her thought patterns and knew she bristled more at the pet reference than any slight against his ego and dignity.

"You can have his dignity," Neria sneered right back in such a way that he thought he might be seeing double…if Namaya were several decades younger with smoother skin and wearing robes rather then armor, anyway. As she brushed past, he had to bite down his smirk when she held up a bag of coins that most _definitely_ wasn't hers. "I'll be taking my money back, though. Last time I trust a _shem_ to keep some of it safe."

Several deckhands were tittering as Namaya, the ship's apparent boatswain from the murmurs Anders overheard, blushed scarlet and sputtered furiously at the retreating Neria's back. Anders slipped by her without notice, still grinning as he joined Neria who was deep in discussion with the ship's first mate – a man named Casavir who, in Anders' opinion, seemed a tad too intense as he stared at his young companion.

"Aye, the captain sent word to be expecting you," he heard the man say with the barest of smiles on his face. He doubted the expression was very common, considering. "You'll be in the Siren's nicest guest quarters, per Captain Isabella's orders."

"I'll have to thank her," Neria said, more to herself than either of them.

Considering their cabin felt like something they'd be more likely to find in Orlais then on a _ship_, Anders briefly wondered what the captain's room looked like. The captain's room was always the biggest and, as far as Anders knew, the most grand of all rooms on the ship.

"The rest of the day is yours; we cast off in the morning," Casavir told them, his face serious as he ducked out. "The captain also sent word that she'd like it if you'd join the crew for dinner."

'Like', Anders found out, was an understatement considering the way he saw the infamous Isabella eye his companion all through dinner. He laughed and enjoyed himself with some of the crew, of course, but he was most intrigued by the rapt attention Neria was getting. Sure, she was pretty in a youthful way, but the severity of her gaze alone should've been off-putting.

Not so with pirates, apparently.

"You're ridiculous," she scoffed when he mentioned this after dinner when they were both alone and in their cabin. She was taking the bed, as his own personal sense of chivalry demanded, and Anders was content with the floor and a very big pelt from some furry white animal he'd never seen before. "I do not attract that sort of attention."

"Not even you believe that," he retorted and Neria's frown deepened. "Half the crew is elven, so it's not that, and if it was the mage thing then _I'd_ be getting that look too…which I'm not." He sniffed theatrically. "Hurts my manly feelings, it does."

"My sympathies." Neria's tone was anything _but_ sympathetic.

"Might be good," he suggested, grinning even though he was quite serious. It faltered under the deadly look she shot him.

"_Not for me._" There was so much meaning in the words and her tone that Anders had to wonder just how long she'd been kept in Tesla's 'care'. Female apostates suffered this sort of thing all the time, he'd found out from his contact in the Mage's Collective, which is why it was rare for them to actually travel alone. Adding her natural elven appeal as well and…well…

It took Anders to a place he didn't like.

"You think too much," Neria commented, and he was relieved to see her features had softened somewhat. "The healer needs to take a rest."

"The healer never rests," he grinned.

She didn't return the look. "Then the healer will get you killed."

_

* * *

Foolish shem._ The thought didn't have as much heat as it normally would, Neria noticed absently. Sitting cross-legged on deck across from her, Anders looked quite serious and not at all affected by the strong swells of magic she could feel in the air coaxing the winds into action, both his and hers despite her distracted state. It danced along her skin like an icy flame, instinctively making her want to call out more of her magic. Neria resisted, however; the sails were straining enough as it was – anymore and they'd tear in two.

_Wild magic._ She scoffed at the term, but it certainly applied now that she had a bit of hindsight. Her father had it to; an anomaly found solely amongst elven mages because of their natural affinity to the ebbs and flows of magic around them. Their power was more potent – purer, in a way, and most resembling the magic of old that had all but disappeared from the world except for the few who were born lucky enough to possess it. To say the magic ran under her skin was accurate enough for a normal mage like Anders; for Neria, it always felt like her blood. To be bled dry of her mana nearly killed her just as effectively as draining her of every drop of blood in her veins.

_Father._ It was another term she was tempted to scoff at, but that would imply feelings for someone she didn't know. Her entire wealth of knowledge regarding the man who'd sired her was a distant memory of an elven hymn and the vague memories of being told about _'wild magic'_ and other tidbits from a time when elves were free and happy within the ancient walls of Arlathan in the north. The lost city was in north-west Antiva; it was a place she very much wanted to see. First, though, she wanted to sate a bit of curiosity that had been nagging at her dreams lately.

For the past few weeks – ever since being relieved of Tesla and his band of depraved miscreants – Neria had seen visions of waterways running through a bustling city filled with bridges that lit up at night by lights of beautiful colors. Research while at Highever had given her the name of an Antivan city that was known for its waterways that served as roads through the town and bridges that spanned across them like a maze. Treviso was to be her first stop in her journey, though she had no idea what it was she was to look for once there.

Deep inside her though, she knew it would lead her to her father. Somehow.

"We're making good time," Anders noted, and she was startled to realize he'd been staring at her for some time…watching her with those dark eyes of his that always seemed to twinkle with some private amusement as if the world was one hilarious joke. While grating at points, Neria found she didn't mind it so much since it gave him a relatively humorous outlook on things. "Isabella thinks we'll make it to port in Rialto in a day's time; Antiva City in another. From there, it'll be another day and a half to Treviso."

Something in the way he said the captain's name made her pause. "You slept with her." Neria stated it as fact since, quite frankly, she had no doubt as to the answer.

His expression only confirmed it. "For the record," he grinned, "she was the one who seduced _me_. Invited me back to her room for some drinks and…well, apparently she has a taste for mages. It's the power in the fingertips." He wiggled his for added affect and Neria really did snort.

"I thought she was having her fun with that Antivan elf I've seen on board."

Anders shrugged. "So did I, but I get the impression it's a very open-ended relationship, if you catch my drift."

"Huh." _To each their own, I suppose._ "Don't piss her off," she warned him. Not until we land in Treviso, eh?"

"So what are we going for, if you'll indulge my burgeoning curiosity? Money? Smuggling?" The last was said only half jokingly, making her eyebrow arch a bit higher and him to shrug again. "What? Like I know what you do for a living?"

"Do I look like a smuggler?" she asked wryly.

"No, but until a few days ago I'd have said you didn't seem strong enough to wield that long sword of yours, either."

"Touché." Just remembering the flabbergasted expression on his face when she'd wielded Spellweaver to kill that assassin made her grin. "I'm inclined to follow visions I've been having," she allowed, impressed when Anders actually bit his tone to keep from saying something about her statement of 'visions'. So he _did_ have some self-restraint. Amazing. "I think they'll lead me to my father."

"Your father is Antivan?"

Neria shrugged. "Maybe? I don't know. I know I have been in Ferelden for as long as I can recall; I have a penchant for fighting and a fondness for the war dogs." Absently, she scratched her own growing Mabari puppy she _still_ hadn't named behind his ears as he slept peacefully in her lap. "To that end, I also appreciate a fine Orlesian satin as much as anyone in Orlais. Does that mean I am Orlesian too?"

"Point, though I admit to being curious. You have a certain…accent when you get angry," Anders pointed out. "It's so faint, though, I can't figure it out."

She shrugged, mostly because this was the first she'd ever heard of any accent once so ever. "You must have sharp ears for details, then."

"I just listen closely when pretty girls talk," he said cheekily, his grin widening as she snapped her head up to stare at him…in disbelief, mostly. He wasn't unpleasant to look at or anything, but…

_I suppose it's flattering._ Neria was more confused than anything about how to take his implication of her being included as a pretty girl.

"You're _blushing!"_ he crowed, delighted, and her hands automatically reached up to touch her cheeks that were indeed suspiciously warm.

"Shut up!" Turning away, Neria scowled as she concentrated on maintaining her magic at a reasonable level. "Stupid shem."

"Prickly knife-ear," he shot back in jest. She didn't need to look to know he was smiling as he said it, seeing as he said it with the same tone she used when she referred to him as a shem. Since she only ever said it with amused exasperation, it stood to reason he said 'knife-ear' with the same well meant meaning behind it.

Perhaps her time with him wouldn't be so horrible.

Anders might even prove amusing.

_**

* * *

A/N: After a nice holiday break, I return. I actually intended on Zevran actually appearing in this, but he seems to want to stay skulking in the shadows for the moment. He is indeed the 'Antivan elf' Neria references, meaning he was on board the Siren's Call with them. Perhaps he will get off at Treviso with Anders and Neria?**_

_**I'm actually wondering what to do with Anders while he and Neria romp around Antiva. Neria will be following her elven instincts for a bit, while maybe Anders can find himself a good relationship to shape him some more, maybe? He is only 18 at the moment, after all. He and Neria will do some bonding and get a taste of Antivan life in the mean time though, which I think will be great fun.**_

_**Til' next time.**_

_**~SRDempsey**_


End file.
